


Counting on Your Fingers

by CarryOn_CarryOut



Series: Miscellaneous fics in the Sagebrush & Concrete storyline [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Blood and Injury, Childhood Trauma, Deadeye (Overwatch), Deadeye (Overwatch) is supernatural, Gen, Jesse McCree is a Little Shit, Panic, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes is a Softie, Sort Of, Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Thoughts, Young Jesse McCree, all part of that whole curse thingy, at times - Freeform, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarryOn_CarryOut/pseuds/CarryOn_CarryOut
Summary: He hasn't ever had to explain Deadeye to anyone. People knew better than to ask. Or they didn't last long enough to ask, shot down before they could say "what the hell?". It wasn't something to explain."What the fuck was that?" Reyes says, and his voice is a hell of a lot softer than Jesse had expected it would be. It was weird, and vaguely bad, but not bad at the same time.Jesse gives a tentative smile, eyes flicking up. "A hereditary gift."Reyes stares at him, not even slightly amused.Or: How a young cowboy nearly fucks everything up and almost loses his chances with Blackwatch
Relationships: Jesse McCree & Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Series: Miscellaneous fics in the Sagebrush & Concrete storyline [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1146011
Comments: 10
Kudos: 153





	1. Clean Sheets, Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> I believe this would be rated R as a TV episode, so like... the mature rating is there for a reason.

He hasn't had a bed free of some kind of dust in years, so it is a heavenly experience. They smell real nice, freshly washed and like unscented soap. They're softer than he's used to as well.

Agent Lex snores below him. It's irritating but Jesse is used to hearing things when asleep, so he's also used to ignoring them and going right back to sleep. 

In the morning, he wakes when Lex does. He climbs out from the top bunk, hurrying through changing. He has to report to Reyes' office. _Commander_ Reyes' office, he corrects himself. 

Even though he's not in Blackwatch yet, the rank thing is a big deal to other people. Jesse just doesn't want to piss people off, he's used to people being specific about how they want to be respected. He's never had it this specific and this organized before, so it's a little alien to him, but it's manageable. He can swing it.

He's on the head honchos watch list, and it scares him more than he'll admit, quite honestly. He hasn't been under a searchlight in a while. One wrong step and he could be thrown overboard, off the gorge or whatever similar punishment Blackwatch uses for when people act up.

Paperwork _sucks_.

He's been doing nothing but signing things and reading documents. His hand and eyes hurt. At least Reyes' seems slightly impressed by his insistence on reading every article, checking them over for fine print even though he's no lawyer. 

The screen hurts his eyes though.

The Commander has been coming in and out of the office all day, locking it behind him when he goes so that nobody bothers Jesse. He's very relaxed about leaving Jesse, a not-very-good person, entirely alone surrounded by all this important looking stuff. A shiny medal hangs on the wall, a large desk, and a computer that looks brand new.

Jesse's not at all intimidated by the space, but Reyes' certainty that Jesse wouldn't do anything feels a little off. Like he's too big to care about anything a punk like Jesse does. 

It almost feels like overconfidence, but it doesn't even falter when Jesse points it out.

Reyes keeps pouring himself a cup of coffee from his own personal coffee maker, doesn't even look up as he says, "Why do you think I should be worried?"

It ain't a question. It's a statement. He doesn't think he has anything in this office that Jesse could take or ruin. This ain't actually where he does his work, though Jesse knew that already with how often he's outside of his office. It's a glorified closet, probably.

Jesse hums. "May I have some coffee too, sir?"

Reyes looks at him. "Depends on what you'll trade for it."

He narrows his eyes as Reyes turns away. His mind settles only a little once he realizes that it wasn't actually a threat. His hackles had raised subconsciously, he works to lower his shoulders.

Reyes stirs sugar into his coffee. Jesse figures he was being "playfully" stingy. Like a dad, who's response to a question is telling a bad joke. Like _his_ dad. He immensely hates the connection. Feels a lot more boxed in now that he realizes what set him off about the words.

He opens his mouth, closes it, and tries to will his voice into being steady. "Do ya want my first born or sumthin', Commander Reyes?"

"Smart mouthed brat," Reyes grumbles before letting out a dark, mean, chuckle. "You're getting push-ups for that once you're signed up."

He was keenly aware that Reyes is dangerous, but the man makes a habit of being non-threatening usually, even now it is said with a joking tone. The earlier comparison to his father definitely doesn't help now, especially with a phrase that sounds like it was plucked right from the man's mouth. He is gonna get hit, Reyes is going to hit him.

He's in danger, danger, very big danger. Reyes is bigger than him, much bigger, and stronger than him, and he ain't used to feeling this powerless anymore.

Jesse's ears ring with the second sickening swell of panic. He clenches and relaxes his grip around the tablet pen. They have Peacekeeper and his mother's gun. He only has a pen.

Reyes hasn't looked up. Still stirring creamer into his coffee. Jesse could run. He runs pretty fast. The door is closer to him than Reyes. He could run. Then what? Can't outrun everyone here. Reyes is the boss.

"Took you awhile to come up with that one, didn't it?" Reyes chuckles. "Guess you do need the coffee."

Jesse closes his eyes, fights against his body's natural panic. He thinks about using Deadeye. When it rushes up to meet his tentative thoughts it is full of murderous intent like always. Cold and on fire at the same time, otherworldly tendrils of ink seem to creep up his spine and into his mind. God, he's an idiot.

He worries that _he_ is going to try and punch Reyes now. Get his own sorry ass thrown in jail. All because of a fucked up family curse.

He struggles to put his hands over the back of his head. To pull himself down into a hunch. He braces for an impact that he's not sure will come. Deadeye cries for him to inflict harm. He's not _allowed_ to be afraid, it cries.

 _Push the pen into Commander Reyes' throat, crush his windpipe with spindly piano hands, watch him gasp for air_. Jesse battles this thought by saying that Reyes is trained in combat and wouldn't like that, and his stupid punk ass needs this damned deal to go through.

Deadeye is hard to will away when he's panicking. Reyes is a distinct danger. 

_He's going to hit Jesse_. He's _not_ going to hit Jesse. Reyes ain't his shit heel of a father.

He can't get Deadeye under control all the way, and it is like a veil over his mind, dark and heavy and disturbingly calm now for all of the horrific images and plans it gives him.

They took his fucking eye patch, the bastards. He needs it right about now. He'd teach them... _bite them, bruise them, shoot them._.. after he got this stupid curse under his control. He had to remember to teach them and not just throw hands about wildly.

It's not even of his own volition that he sits back up. It's a bad idea. He stares Reyes dead in the eye with calm detachment that isn't his own. A steel mask slips in place like an armor. Accompanying it is a swooping feeling under his ribs that most people associate with a thrumming bass-line. Oh no. Here it comes.

Reyes just looks plain concerned.

If he's afraid, Jesse can't tell. He thinks that his eye is probably red, but he's not sure, people usually responded with visceral fear the first time they see it. It's curious that he wouldn't.

It wasn't Reyes' fault that Jesse couldn't keep his shit together. It wasn't Reyes' fault that he shared common traits. Commander Reyes seems like a good man. Jesse manages to gain a little more control over it. 

He doesn't want to hurt any more good people.

"Did you stab yourself in the eye with the pen?" Reyes sounds a little flabbergasted, but in an oddly clinical way. It reminds Jesse of a doctor. "What the fuck happened, are you okay?"

Okay, so his eye is red. Maybe this is salvageable still, though. He can leave, use the bathroom as an excuse. Make up some lies. How the fuck would he begin to lie about this?

He struggles and stands. Forces his own back against the wall. It takes a lot of effort, bullying Deadeye in his own brain. He won't hurt Reyes.

Shit hasn't been this bad in a few months. 

"I'm sorry, sorry Commander Reyes, I really have to go to the bathroom," Jesse manages, though it sounds a lot slower than it should. His mind is racing. He probably is babbling. "Like, right this instant--may I be excused--dismissed--I have no idea, sorry, thank you--"

The door opens. Jesse didn't touch it yet, but he takes the opportunity, pushing past a tall, thin person in blue.

He's practically bounding down the empty hall, bouncing more than he knows he should, steps irregular. He can hear heavy footsteps behind him, thump, thump, thumping like his rabbit quick pulse.

Deadeye calmed when it realized that Jesse would flee rather than fight. Sulking.

He feels like a deer, dashing in a field, his limbs too damn long.

Panic still floods his veins. With Deadeye no longer casting itself over his senses he simultaneously feels lighter and slower but also faster. Less controlled but also more in control. 

He's been fully handed back the wheel of a vehicle that is about to crash. And he does crash.

He's tackled to the fucking floor. The air exits his lungs in a wheeze.

He doesn't even have space to wiggle as the brick shithouse that knocked him over puts him into a hold he has no clue how to get out of.

"Jesus, what the fuck, McCree!" Reyes hollers, voice rasping and angry. Not even winded though. 

Jesse keeps Deadeye from wiggling up from where it had tucked itself away. Trying hard to empathize with Reyes even as he is gasping for air on the floor. His cheek is pressed into the tile.

He feels raw, bruised already.

It wasn't Reyes' fault that Jesse messed up. He's being nice, considering Jesse hasn't been shot yet.

"Gabriel, do you need assistance?" A light and middle eastern accented voice asks.

"Might need medical down here, Amari," Reyes says, "I think the kid stabbed himself in the goddamn eye somehow, and he's acting really funny."

"Here, let me see." Amari squats down in front of Jesse. "Which eye?"

He squints both eyes shut, not risking whichever state they'll find his eye in. 

"It was the right one."

Jesse jerks his head as delicate, cool fingers touch his face. He is still struggling to catch his breath, but he goes slack, accepting that he ain't gonna get out of the hold. No way out of this.

"Yes, I understand it is painful," Amari coos at him, though her voice is mote like a doctors. "Open your eyes for a moment, please."

Jesse does. Understand that there is no way out of this. Fuck him, fuck this. How does he even begin to salvage this?

She blinks at him. When she speaks her voice is clinical. Only her expression betrays her confusion. "Both of his eyes are perfectly fine, not even bloodshot."

He closes his eyes again, presses his nose against the tile with a deep exhale and wishes the floorboards would swallow him whole.

The hand at the back of his neck tightens slightly. "His right eye was full of blood, Ana, all of the white was red."

"Do _your_ eyes need to be checked, Gabriel?" She shot back. "It looks fine."

"May I-- permission to speak?" The words taste like the bitterness of panic and sweat and stale breath and a bit like the floor wax. Jesse swallows but doesn't open his eyes.

A beat of silence meets his request. He hears the movement of air pushed out in tiny bursts, barely audible consonants. They're mouthing words above him, most likely

Amari steps away.

"What the fuck, why not?" Reyes mutters at his back. "Permission granted."

"My eye kind of does that sometimes, sir," Jesse says to the floor, it's cold touch on his forehead and nose grounding him. "It gets red, then goes away, it's a curse."

Jesse gets hauled up after Reyes stands. His stomach drops down into his boots. His hands get held behind his back by Reyes' cold grip.

"Resistance will mean forfeiture of any and all rights you currently have under our protection," Reyes says, his voice clear and louder than previously. "Comply and you may not end up in prison."

Amari looks Jesse in the eyes as Reyes walks him past her. There is something odd about her expression, her eyes sad. Pity? Does she feel bad for him? What the fuck?

"Ducan!" Reyes shouts out to someone who stepped out of a room. "With me."

The agent falls into step naturally, and they were armed, just like Reyes.

Jesse lets himself be walked along. He doesn't really have any other choice. Offices became what appeared to be labs, and those labs became a singular, dingy concrete hallway with a large metal door at the end.


	2. Detainment, Corrections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Unease oozes down his spine. The silence is uncomfortable but breaking it seems even less appealing. He can feel the stare boring holes into his skull. His skin boils with a mix of embarrassment and fear.  
> ...  
> He knows he is in trouble, there is no second guessing it. Resignation sets in._

"I am being detained," Jesse says, and speaking the certainty out loud made it a little more horrible. "How long?"

They enter through the door, and it hisses shut behind them. A cell. No visible cameras. Large metal table and two chairs. Half wall structure--

Jesse can't finish looking around because he is being pushed into a very sturdy chair. 

"You haven't put up any resistance yet, so let's put that as a tentative 'not for long'," Reyes replied, manhandling Jesse into placing his arms onto the table. "Just need to talk to you, but you need to be strapped in first."

Cuffs appear where Jesse's hands are, wrapping around his wrists and tightening just enough to not cut off his circulation. Reyes kicks at his legs to move them around and leg cuffs soon bind him to the steel chair he is confined in.

Reyes plops down at the opposite end of the table. He taps at a device and then huffs, sliding it into his pocket.

Duncan moves out of Jesse's line of sight, and Jesse would be lying if he said he didn't trail him with his gaze for as long as possible.

He turns back to Reyes slowly, finding Reyes staring at him. Jesse stares at the table. 

Unease oozes down his spine. The silence is uncomfortable but breaking it seems even less appealing. He can feel the stare boring holes into his skull. His skin boils with a mix of embarrassment and fear.

If he says or does the wrong thing he could get beaten. For some fucked up reason it is easier to digest like this, tied up and in a cell, than when he thought the same thing in Reyes' office. No mixed signals, no particular softness to Reyes' form, and that was what makes it different, he supposes.

He knows he is in trouble, there is no second guessing it. Resignation sets in.

If he says or does the wrong thing he could get thrown in super-max. He ain't sure what to say though. He hasn't ever had to explain Deadeye to anyone. People knew better than to ask. Or they didn't last long enough to ask, shot down before they could say “what the hell?”. It wasn't something to explain.

"What the fuck was that?" Reyes says, and his voice is a hell of a lot softer than Jesse had expected it would be. It was weird, and vaguely bad, but not bad at the same time.

Jesse gives a tentative smile, eyes flicking up. "A hereditary gift."

Reyes stares at him. 

Jesse knows it's some kind of psychological trick, but he swears the man could see through him. He wets his lips and hunches down in his chair as much as possible, his knees struggling to move forwards even and inch with his lower legs bound like they were.

"I've never had to explain it to anyone before, so I can only call it a curse... and its like-- do ya know the Hulk?" Jesse tries, splaying his hands in a stifled gesture before canceling the movement. He could feel the sweat running down the column of his neck. 

Reyes crosses his arms over his broad chest. 

"My grandpa messed up and went into the desert and when he came back he was changed," Jesse said, and admitting his family history felt oddly like stepping out of his own skin. "He passed it down, like it was genetic."

"What does this 'curse' entail?" Reyes asked.

"My perception of time changes, my reflexes are quickened as a result, I can do a weird thing where I shoot more times than I have bullets for, and my aim is, well," Jesse chuckles. "It's called Deadeye, and for a good reason, sir."

He stifles his nervous laugh, trying to rub his face against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I just realized the connection-- I've been running around calling this curse thing 'Deadeye' for half a decade and I didn't even think that my uncle sucked at naming things."

Reyes raps his knuckles against the table, there is a ghost of a smile in his eyes though his mouth is a hard line. "On topic, McCree." 

Jesse nods. Right, he's being interrogated.

"My apologies," he sighs. "Anyways, the curse has side effects, of course, otherwise it would be called a blessing, so my eye gets red, and I get some nasty, violent urges, usually homicidal in nature."

It's a little disturbing how calm and curious the commander is about all this. It makes Jesse no longer as nervous about immediately being hit for saying the wrong thing.

"I swear to ya, sir, I didn't mean for it to happen, usually I'm a whole lot better than this." Jesse bites the inside of his lip. "I got it fully under control again halfway through ya chasing me." 

"The eye patch usually helps me keep from getting like that," Jesse continues. "But ya-- I was reminded of something bad when sitting in your office and it triggered the-- it triggered it-- that reaction-- I didn't have my hat to hide my eyes, or my sunglasses, or my eye patch."

"Are you currently a danger to yourself or others because of this ability?" the question is gruff.

He splays his hands in the bindings.

"At this exact very precise moment, the answer would be no," Jesse says, immediately regretting his tone of voice. 

He clears his throat in response to the glare he receives. 

"Sorry-- no sir, not currently, Commander Reyes, sir."

Reyes stares at him, , not even slightly amused.

So Jessie continues. "I don't really think that I'm all that more dangerous than any other teenager that needs anger management."

Reyes sits like a goddamn statue, Jesse can't glean if that answer was satisfactory or not.

"To my credit, I'm more precise with a gun than most people my age," he reasons. "Quicker with one as well, but when I don' have a gun my curse usually just makes me want to punch things."

"Why do you want me to believe you?" Reyes asks.

"I can't, I really can't go to prison," Jesse blurts. "I can't stand even the idea of solitary, and Deadeye would try to kill me if I was on my own without any charms."

He keeps finding it easier and easier to speak, it feels a bit more like twenty questions and less like an interrogation.

Reyes shifts his hands on the table, and it was to slightly curl two fingers on his right hand. "Is the Deadeye curse sentient?"

"What's the definition of sentient?" Jesse asks, his face flushing. "Please speak to me like I'm dumb, sir, because I am, in fact, just a little dumb."

The commander snorts in amusement. "More than just a little." 

Jesse waits. Reyes' lips curl in thought, surrounded by his thick facial hair. 

"You understand you just gave me permission to be one of the world's biggest assholes, right?" Reyes smirks.

"Why, sir," Jesse says in mock surprise, hands moving in the restraints he was forced into. "I didn't realize you needed permission to be yourself." 

Reyes laughs. "You'll make a man blush, cariño, what with compliments like that."

Jesse makes a face at the usage of the endearment. Reyes laughs harder.

When Reyes stops laughing Jesse schools his face into something serious. "Getting back to the topic at hand… I don't know the definition but ya asked me if Deadeye was sentient."

"Does it think, talk to you, or feel all on its own?" Reyes rephrased.

"It..." Jesse feels his mouth moving around as he thought about the question for the first time. "It's separate from me, but kinda like its piggybacking on my brain? If that makes a lick of sense."

Reyes just stares at him, unmoving.

"It doesn't talk to me, least not with words, but it is usually just feelings and violent urges," he says. "It doesn't ever see or hear stuff on its own, so it's not like there are two full beings in my body."

He takes a moment to work through the words. 

"I don't know how to describe it, 'cause I don't remember what my life was like before it to compare to." He huffs. "I got it at a real young age."

Jesse catches sight of Reyes fidgeting with his hands again.

"What did you mean when you said that Deadeye will kill you if you go to prison?"

Jesse swallows. "It's pretty gruesome, but if the deadeye thinks that I ain't getting enough vengeance, getting enough blood, it'll chew me up inside."

He's quick to add, "Metaphorically, that is; and then eventually I'd kill myself, unless I'd used some charms to negate it."

Reyes' whole hand flattens to the table. "What do you mean by charms?"

"The eye patch I came in with was one a them," Jesse responds, openly gesturing with the minimal movement the cuffs afford him. "With that weird pattern on the inside?"

"They help me control the curse, somehow, I usually ain't needing any charms, but today was a special circumstance, I reckon," he says, trying to convey his sincerity.

Two of Reyes' fingers moves. Only to flatten back down as Jesse makes it obvious he saw the movement. Jesse has a feeling that flat fingers mean something but slightly curled fingers mean something else. 

Jesse squints at it. It couldn't be. 

He hesitantly asks, "Are ya counting on your fingers, Commander Reyes, sir?"

Reyes raises his eyebrows at him. Jess thinks he might be wrong.

"Ya keep moving the fingers on your right hand around slightly after I answer your questions-- are ya keeping track of what you're gonna ask?" Jesse wonders out loud.

Reyes tilts his head at him, like Jesse was a curiosity.

His eyes widen and he quickly tries to apologize, "Sorry, I shouldn't be the one askin' anythin', I'll stay on track, sir."

"You caught me," Reyes chuckles, and moves his left hand to cover more movement on his right. "Sharp eyes, kid."

Jesse smiles slightly. So Reyes had four questions for him? Maybe more after he answered each of them.

Reyes flattened his other hand and curled two of the fingers. Eight questions. How the questions could double in the span of maybe two seconds, Jesse didn't understand.

"Would ya just like to ask a few all at once?"

Reyes shook his head.

"I need the names of all of your family members with this ability," Reyes commanded. "Or any others that you know of."

"As far as I know they're all dead, sir," Jesse responded. "My grandfather, Mateo Dolores de la Peña, was the first to get the curse, his wife, my grandmother, she never got the curse, but she's also dead."

Reyes nods, encouraging him to continue.

"My grandpa passed it to my mother Julianna Rosa Dolores Anthony, and my two uncles," Jesse has to pause to remember their full names, which is a bit guilt inspiring. "Justino Dolores Anthony and Jericho Dolores Anthony Schmidt."

Reyes eyes him. "Any cousins? Siblings?"

"My cousins were adopted, and I'm an only child."

One question down.

"Duncan," Reyes calls to the side, a sharp bark. "I'm gonna need to ask you a favor or two here in a second."

Another question answered, though Jesse hasn't spoken.

His pulse spikes. _He'd been betrayed, tricked._ Reyes was going to have him shot, tortured, beaten. _That fucking asshole, he'd trusted him too easily and now it was gonna bite him in the ass._

"Kid?" Reyes turns to him, half distracted before scanning Jesse's face. "Damn, you're a nervous wreck, I'm just asking him to get me some coffee and a notepad."

Jesse breathes in a strained chuckle, slumping forwards. "Oh god I keep thinking I'm gon' die."

"Just what is making you so jumpy?" 

Jesse looks up.

Reyes' expression is one of concern and intense study.

"No offense, Commander Reyes, sir, but ya seem like the odd love child of a hippie and a modern interpretation of the devil himself," Jesse says, falling into a deadpan for the punchline. 

He smirks at Reyes. "Sometimes it swings more towards hippie, and that frightens me immensely."

He could hear a short peal of laughter coming from Duncan, who was still outside of Jesse's vision, behind a half wall of some sort. At least one person found his joke amusing.

Reyes looks at him, his face contorting into an expression that was entirely too complex to name, but it ends with a snicker.

"Oh, you are funny," Reyes exclaims. "But seriously, what's eating you? Because I can and will flash a peace sign-- don't make me do it."

"Nicotine withdrawals, most likely, I haven't smoked since yesterday." He chewed his lip. "And I was stressed earlier, in uh, in your office."

Reyes doesn't look happy, but he doesn't look mad either. "What do you smoke?"

"Cigars, usually." Jesse shrugs as much as possible. "I've been known to smoke anything though, even will use nicotine gum."

"Duncan, get my cigars, the kid's eye patch, a notepad, and a black coffee." Reyes looks past Jesse. "ASAP, please."

Reyes salutes Duncan, or, well, salutes Duncan back, maybe. Jesse can't tell who did it first. The door opens and closes behind him.

"Thank you kindly, sir," Jesse mumbles. 

There is only one hand sprawled against the table, four fingers flush and one bent. 

"Could ya tell me which questions I answer even if you don't ask them?" he requests, because if feels oddly like a game, like each question answered made two more.

Reyes wrinkles his crooked nose. "This is not for your benefit, and that would be even less wise than me already showing my hand this much." 

Jesse just nods. "That's true, sorry, you're a lot smarter than me."

"You're just used to acting dumb." Reyes scowls.

"I'm a shithead kid, what can I say," Jesse jokes and half-shrugs. "Acting dumb is my strong suit."

"You are a dangerous, wanted criminal, a former upper level gang member, and, hm, not entirely human, it seems," Reyes says, emphasizing with a faux thoughtful tone. "You're a shithead, but don't pretend to just be a kid."

"You been calling me 'kid' constantly, Commander Reyes," Jesse argues. "Figured I'd act my age, sir."

Six questions now instead of four. Jesse may have made a face.

"I'm gonna ask a question, and it may be difficult," Reyes says, low enough for it to be almost apologetic, but too rough to actually be. "How likely is that Deadeye shit going to happen again if I ask you about what caused it to happen in the first place?"

"On a scale of one to ten? I don't know, probably a six, it depends on how emotional I get." Jesse casts his eyes down. "Still am tied to the table and chair, so, again, not a real threat, but my eye might get red and I might get verbally abusive and say things I don't mean."

One of Reyes' fingers curls entirely, tucking under his hand while the rest stay splayed.

"You said it was an unsavory memory?" Reyes watches him, eyes searching his own. "What triggered it?"

"It was..." Jesse rubs his inflamed face against his scrunched up shoulder, his voice comes out patchy, and weak. "Ya kind of were acting like how my father tended to act when he was, uh, when he was about to whoop me."

His foot attempts to tap despite its binding. He clenches a fist, slows his breathing.

Reyes nods. "Alright, what was the thing that I did that reminded you of it?"

It comes out meeker than intended, but he says-- "Ya called me a brat."

Reyes has a weirdly determined look on his face, but Jesse can't tell why.

"And you're bigger and tougher than me, and I'm--" Jesse laughs ruefully. "I reckon I sound like an idiot right about now."

Reyes shakes his head. "You sound like someone who has been through a lot." 

Jesse rubs his face against his shoulder again. He figures it's gonna be a long day, but at least he'll get to use his eye-patch again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please blame/thank the lovely WhyAmILikeThis for my re-appearance from the void of obscure and horrible fanfiction authors. I, a known cretin, will try to make very few promises about posting things in a timely manor.
> 
> I am proud of this fic for actually making it out there into the world abroad. It would have sat and festered in my Out box until I got very upset with it and decided that it wasn't good enough. Good on it for crawling its way out of my files and onto ao3. 
> 
> I have 3 more short fics sitting in my Out box, as well as one or two chapters for various stories, but I will TRY to post them and not hide them away.


End file.
